


I Promise

by itsfaberrytaboo (orphan_account)



Series: Needed [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Established Relationship, F/F, Hair-pulling, Kink Negotiation, Light Angst, Maria needs a hug, Natasha Needs a Hug, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Praise Kink, Reconciliation, Sam Needs to Kiss Steve Already, Spanking, Unadulterated Devotion, past bad BDSM etiquette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 14:25:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10901211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/itsfaberrytaboo
Summary: She thought back to that night in New York. How it seemed to take forever for her to get there, when she knew Natasha was hurt and waiting for her. She tried not to think of the cuts to Natasha’s skin, the bruises, but instead Maria’s mind focused on what propelled Natasha to that point, to a need so hungry she’d go to a BDSM club for relief.





	I Promise

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to Needed, based on a prompt from anon on tumblr: Do you think you could write about Natasha coming back from a mission and just needing Maria all the time, even while she's at work, it could in any verse you'd like that one in which Maria is her mistress included.
> 
> I hope you like it, anon!
> 
> This fic contains minor mention of bathroom desperation; it's not tagged because I wasn't sure how to tag it, exactly.

Her security clearance had been overridden.

That was the first thought in Maria Hill’s mind as she replaced her gun in its holster and glared down, hands now on her hips.

Not that someone was in her office. Not the surprise of that someone being Natasha Romanoff. And definitely not that Natasha was on her knees to the side of Maria’s desk, her own hands held loosely behind her back at the wrists.

“Do you know how much it bugs me that I’m the deputy director and you still have a higher level than I do?”

A small smile quirked at Natasha’s lips, but she kept her head down. Her curls half-hid her face, not that being able to see her completely would’ve made the Russian easier to read, Maria knew.

“You tell me that a lot, actually.”

“I tell Fury, too. Neither of you listen.”

Maria moved around to her desk, seating herself in her chair and picking up a pen, drumming it loudly against the glass top.

“What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Other than you bypassing my security to come in here and kneel, no, Romanoff, it isn’t.”

It came out annoyed, and Maria put down the pen, running her hand through her hair. There was a _reason_ Romanoff was here, kneeling at her feet; there was a _reason_ she had been waiting for her, and being aggravated from lack of breakfast – so far – and lack of sleep weren’t going to help matters.

She gentled her tone with the next question. “How long have you been here?”

This time Natasha glanced up, to the clock. It was ten a.m.

“Hour and a half, maybe?”

Maria reached down and lightly tugged at a few strands of bright red hair, watching as they sprang back. “If you’re going to make this a habit I should keep a cushion in the drawer.”

“I’m fine.”

“This isn’t the way I want you to do penance, you know.”

Her hand didn’t leave Natasha’s head, and Natasha leaned into the touch. They both knew Maria was joking; Natasha had repeatedly apologized after their reunion in New York, but she hadn’t needed to. She’d been forgiven the moment Maria had picked up the phone that night to hear Natasha’s wounded, pleading voice on the other end.

“We don’t kneel at St. John’s,” Natasha said, alluding to the church she’d attended once or twice in the last few months. Her voice was a little distant, quieter than usual, likely because of the steady petting from her girlfriend. “Besides, I’m not here for penance.”

Maria swiveled in her chair to take stock of Natasha. The Russian’s face was flushed; under the ministrations of her fingers Maria could feel that she was shaking slightly. That concerned her, but she didn’t draw attention to it, favoring to ask only, “Why _are_ you here?”

It wasn’t in Natasha’s nature to just show up at Maria’s office; even less so for her to show up at Maria’s office while Maria wasn’t there, override the lock on her door, and kneel inside to wait for her. It wasn’t Maria’s birthday. Not Natasha’s, not their anniversary. But this was a special occasion somehow.

Maria reached down to touch Natasha’s chin, prompting the other woman to raise her face.

“I— “

Maria enjoyed Natasha’s habit of averting her eyes when they were exploring their dynamic together, but not when she wanted clear answers. Answers that were sometimes still hard for Natasha to give.

In fact, it seemed as if Maria’s girlfriend gritted her teeth for a moment before she responded.

“I need to be near you. I know it’s inconvenient but… please. Just for today.”

Maria leaned forward, resting her hands on Natasha’s shoulders and looking into her eyes. “Are you all right?” she asked. “Is there something wrong?”

They hadn’t done any real play in the last couple of weeks, other than a few moments of dirty talk in the bedroom. Maria had been tired and Natasha was preparing for a mission. But still, Maria wracked her brain to come up with something she had done, a careless word or gesture.

Natasha shook her head and leaned up on her knees; Maria met her halfway for their kiss.

“There’s nothing really _wrong_ ,” Natasha said against her lips. “But you know. I’m supposed to tell you when I need you, and not…” She trailed off.

And not go to New York and have herself beaten, Maria finished for her silently. That was their new rule number one, and Maria kissed Natasha again for acknowledging it.

This was different. This would take some wrangling, Maria thought, her mind briefly flicking to the day’s schedule. She could tell Natasha no, that she was too busy and that she’d take care of her after work. Natasha would accept that, but Maria knew that would be because Natasha was somewhat used to being an afterthought in every other relationship except for perhaps the one with Fury. And if Natasha Romanoff could admit that she needed Maria, then she’d be an absolute fool to deny her.

“Have you had breakfast?”

“No. You?”

Maria grinned a little; Natasha knew her too well.

“Why don’t you go to the cafeteria?” she suggested. She marveled at how Natasha rose effortlessly to her feet in an instant.

“Get me some toast and fruit, orange juice. Whatever you want for yourself, and I don’t mean just a cereal bar.”

“Toast, fruit, orange juice,” Natasha repeated. “And I’ll make sure to get an actual breakfast for me. Anything else, ma’am?”

Maria’s grin turned to a full-on smile; it occurred to her how she’d really missed this the last couple of weeks.

“If you’re not back in ten minutes…. I’ll know they’re short-staffed again.”

Natasha laughed. “Thanks for the reprieve.”

“Go on,” Maria said, tipping her chin toward the door. She allowed herself a couple of seconds to watch Natasha’s ass as the agent left, sure that she swayed it a little for Maria’s benefit.

Maria stared at the door, steepling her fingers under her chin, her mind racing with thoughts of her girlfriend and what they would be doing that day. They couldn’t do anything excessively demanding; Maria had to _work_ , after all. And it wasn’t like she had rope or anything other than handcuffs with which to bind Natasha; Maria had never been too keen on the handcuffs, anyway. Natasha reassured her more times than Maria could count that handcuffs were fine, but sometimes the Red Room weighed more on Maria than she’d care to let on.  Besides, she’d found that both she and Natasha preferred the thread of silk on skin than metal. Maria enjoyed the fact that Natasha could break free if she wanted; Natasha reveled in the fact that breaking free of Maria’s control was one of the last things she’d want to do.

Maria checked the top drawer of her desk, a small grunt of satisfaction escaping her lips when she saw a lone scarf left there from some legislative shindig months earlier. It’d do.

There was a beep at the door. “Agent Romanoff has returned,” the disembodied voice announced, and Maria rolled her eyes. Returned, indeed. She turned her attention back to her email.  She chuckled at one of them from Steve; he was only still just getting the hang of email and like the innocent blonde-haired, blue-eyed ice cube he was, he had no idea how the world worked.

_I got this message from a prince in Nigeria, says he’s in danger. Should we check it out?_

_No_ , she answered. _You should_ _check out snopes.com if you want some “light reading material” for the next sixty years._

After five minutes, she looked up. “Unlock the door.”

“Thanks for letting me in,” Natasha said with a little sarcasm as she came and laid her wares on Maria’s desk.

“Remind me how Lucky Charms is considered actual breakfast?” Maria asked, eyeing it all.

“Cereal, milk, not a cereal bar. It’s balanced. Sort of.”

Maria shook her head at Natasha, who was still standing in front of her desk. Waiting.

“Sit,” she said. “In the future, if you want in my office I expect to be asked first.”

Natasha sat down. “That kind of ruins my element of surprise, but yes, ma’am.”

“You don’t have to surprise me to need me,” Maria pointed out gently, loving the way that Natasha’s ears reddened as she poured the milk into her carton of cereal.

“I wasn’t trying to force you into saying yes, either, though.”

“But you were afraid I’d say no.” Maria said it matter-of-factly, if a little sadly, acknowledging what both had had difficulty expressing in their reconciliation. She was still afraid Natasha would cut and run; Natasha couldn’t let go of the feeling that she’d already put Maria through so much there was little reason to ask for anything more.

Natasha finished her mouthful of food before nodding. “Yes, ma’am.”

Maria was thoughtful for a minute or two as she ate the rest of her own breakfast, pushing the remains of it into the wastebasket on the other side of her desk. They were rebuilding their relationship on nothing less than complete honesty, and she wasn’t about to start lying now, even if it might mean a momentary hurt.

“I considered it.” Sure enough, Natasha’s face was crestfallen, and Maria reached out to grasp her hand. “Not because I don’t want you to need me, _myshka_. And not because I don’t want you to come to me when you do need me. But I have work to do, and you bypassed my code. But I didn’t want to seem like I was punishing you, and this is just— “

“Confusing?” Natasha broke in.

“Very.”

“For me too.”

Maria squeezed Natasha’s hand again. For all the pain she’d been through after she and Natasha had broken up – after Natasha had left her in the middle of the night with nothing more than a note – Maria knew it had to be worse for the red-haired woman. Maria had just thrown herself back into work; shoving her bag full of toys and implements into a dark corner of her closet and trying to forget about everything she had learned about Natasha, and herself, in their time together. But while she was futilely trying to convince herself that what she and Natasha had had was a one-off, that she’d never meant anything to Natasha anyway, Natasha had been regularly going to a BDSM club to have her guilt beaten into her by strangers.

The very thought of it still made Maria sick. Natasha had told her everything following that night she’d been brutally caned, the night Maria had flown from Washington to New York without even a second thought because _Natasha needed her_. It made the palms of Maria’s hands itch, to hear about men and women who tied Natasha down and whipped her, offered to fuck her or disregarded her safe word. Part of it, Maria thought, was misplaced jealousy – _she_ wanted to be the one to tie Natasha down and punish her, to see the woman’s gorgeous face wet with tears. _She_ wanted to be the one to fuck Natasha past her senses, to make Natasha babble incoherently in the heat of the moment just before she screamed her release.

But above all, Maria wanted to be the one to protect her, and it was taking a lot for her to be over the fact that Natasha hadn’t let her be there until some idiot with a cane had almost damaged her irreparably. 

And Natasha had traded her physical absolution for something of a spiritual one, going down to the Russian Orthodox Church a couple of times and coming back with tear-stained cheeks. Maria had practically interrogated her about it, something she wasn’t exactly proud of, but she was desperate to make sure Natasha wasn’t substituting being beaten down by hands with being beaten down by a priest.

“I’m fine,” Natasha had reassured her, still to Maria’s dubious look. “It’s just me and God have some things we gotta work out.”

Maria wasn’t the praying sort, but she’d sat up one night on the couch in the living room while Natasha slept, and told God if He hurt her girl the powers of hell would be the least of His worries.

“What should we do now?” Natasha asked, and Maria turned her attention back to her girlfriend.

“I have paperwork I need to do,” Maria said. “I think I want you back on your knees.” She pointed to the floor next to her chair.

“Right here again, please.”

Maria didn’t _have_ to say please, since she was in the position of dominant one in their relationship, but it had been one of her unspoken rules to frame her commands _politely_ , if not always _nicely_. There were times she wasn’t nice to Natasha, by mutual agreement, when there was discipline called for. And she usually didn’t _request_ things unless it wasn’t something she and Natasha had tried before. But Maria would be damned if she’d treat Natasha like those assholes at the club. She’d say please and thank you, and she knew that somehow Natasha found it soothing.

“Yes, ma’am.” Natasha knelt again, and looked at Maria. “Is this how you want me?”

Those words always sent a little shiver of anticipation down Maria’s spine, and Natasha knew it, judging by how many times she asked it, usually with a little smirk.

“Not quite.” Maria reached into her drawer and pulled out the scarf, showing it to Natasha. Her girlfriend’s eyes glinted with approval.

“Hands together in front of you, please.”

She looped the scarf around Natasha’s wrists, knotting them together and checking that the bond wasn’t too tight, before she lashed the scarf to the leg of her chair. Again, she knew that Natasha could easily get away from her; again, it filled Maria with satisfaction to know that Natasha wouldn’t even try.

“Don’t you look pretty as a little submissive picture,” Maria teased, delighted to see that blush again.

If there was one thing Natasha Romanoff adored, it was Maria’s praise.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“You’re welcome. Now, I’m going to get some of this work finished. I shouldn’t have to tell you to be quiet.”

“No, ma’am.”

There was a calm, beatific expression on Natasha’s face as she settled back on her heels; nonetheless Maria made a mental note to grab a cushion from her apartment in the morning. Not that she was banking on this happening again, but she was nothing if not prepared, in case it did. She focused back on the task at hand. It wouldn’t do for her to have to try to explain to Fury why she was behind on her work. She typed with determination for a few minutes, then paused to check what she had written, reaching down with a free hand and guiding Natasha to lean against her thigh.

“Did it not go well?” she asked, running her hand through Natasha’s hair.

Her girlfriend only hummed in response, and Maria tapped the top of her head with her finger.

“Natasha.”

“Sorry, ma’am. Did what not go well?”

“The mission.”

She’d only just gotten back yesterday, and now she was basically refusing to leave Maria’s side. That didn’t bode well to the deputy director.

“Oh, yeah, actually it went fine.” Maria glanced down at Natasha suspiciously. “It did, I promise. We didn’t get anything new so Nick isn’t really happy.”

“If he was happy I’m not sure you could tell, really,” Maria joked. She ran the back of her hand along Natasha’s cheek.

“You sure you’re all right, _myshka_?”

“I didn’t know I had to have an excuse to need you.”

Her tone was accusatory, and Maria sat up straight in her chair, maneuvering it so that she was facing Natasha. It twisted the other woman’s wrists a bit, and Maria didn’t miss the slight hiss of pain she gave.

“You don’t have to have a bad day to need me,” she said sternly, reaching down and holding Natasha’s chin in her hand. “You can need me on a _good_ day. But I happen to be in love with you, and you aren’t what I’d call an expert at sharing your feelings.”

Anyone else might have considered that a low blow; by the way Natasha’s eyes immediately drifted to the floor, Maria knew that the truth had hit home.

“So I might worry when my girlfriend basically breaks into my office to be with me. I can’t help that, Nat.”

“I know.” Natasha took a deep breath, then shifted so that she could softly kiss Maria’s palm. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I know you worry. But I really am fine.”

Maria let Natasha nuzzle at her hand for another few moments before removing it to cup her cheek. She ran her thumb along Natasha’s warm skin, finally nodding in satisfaction.

“That’s a good girl,” she said, before turning her chair around again so that Natasha’s wrists were no longer twisted at an awkward angle.

She concentrated back on her work, the silence broken only by the sound of the computer keys, and Maria every now and then reading her words back to herself before hitting Send. After about ten minutes, though, Natasha spoke up.

“Maria?”

“What is it?”

“You know I love you too, right?”

She was still resting her head on Maria’s thigh, her eyes closed. Maria knew Natasha had a high tolerance for discomfort, but she still marveled at how the other woman could stay on her knees for that long.

“Look at me.”

Natasha did, and Maria leaned down as best she could to kiss her tenderly.

“I know you do, baby.”

She _did_ know that. Since they had slowly begun to reconcile, Natasha was taking every opportunity to remind Maria of it. It wasn’t even her submissiveness, Maria thought. It was the way Natasha tried, as much as possible, to please her. Even with something as simple as doing laundry, because God knows, Maria was helpless at it. Even just a smile across the room during a briefing was somehow enough.

They didn’t say anything for a long while after that. It was almost lunchtime, and enhanced though she was, Maria could hear Natasha beginning to shift at her side. Headquarters may have the latest tech and some damn cool interior design, but that didn’t mean its floor was any more comfortable than some roach motel that went for five hundred a month in New York.

(Fury insisted those made great safehouses. It was one of the few times Maria hated the man.)

Another five minutes in, and Natasha’s knees were rescued by the soft door chime.

“Sam Wilson is here for his 11:30, Commander.”

“Right on time as always,” Maria said, with a bit of affection curling her lips.

She reached down and with a swift move had untied Natasha’s wrists. She pulled Natasha further up on her knees to rub at her hands, her wrists, her forearms, an action that had Natasha surging forward to kiss her hard. Maria never understood the gratitude, why Natasha held being fussed over just as important as being whipped or fucked. Maybe even more important. But the kiss left Maria breathless and she had to rest her forehead against her lover’s for a moment.

“Up,” she demanded, and Natasha complied. “Do you want to grab an early lunch for us, or do you want to stay?”

“Stay.” As if no other option would’ve even been given consideration. Maria nodded, thought for a second, then reached into the drawer just below her computer. She pulled out a wide rubber band, red, and tipped her chin at Natasha.

“Give me your hand.”

It situated tightly around Natasha’s right wrist, with just enough give that when Maria’s eyes gleamed and she pulled it and released, the band struck Natasha’s skin with a satisfying _snap_.

“Just so you know who you belong to.”

Natasha’s own eyes went dark; she bit her lip while watching Maria for her next instruction, and Maria nodded.

She knew what needed to happen later.

“Sit.” She waited until Natasha was again across from her, and Maria smiled. “Let Sam in, please.”

Sam came in like a cheerful gust of air, greeting Maria first and then Natasha in return. If he was surprised by Natasha’s presence, he didn’t show it.

“How’s training going?” Maria asked him, and Sam chuckled.

“Brutal. For a guy who’s ninety-five Cap sure does spar like he’s a super soldier.”

Maria heard Natasha’s soft noise of assent, and she grinned, giving both the Avengers a wink.

“Just let me know if it gets too hard on you, Falcon. I can pair you with one of the junior agents.”

“Hey now, I never said that. I give as good as he does and then some.”

“Oh, I bet you do,” Natasha said, and there was a hint of teasing in her voice that, coupled with Sam suddenly being extremely interested in the doorway, led Maria to believe there was a secret she wasn’t in on. She’d have to fix that.

For the next thirty minutes Sam and Maria “shot the shit,” as Natasha was fond of saying. For her part, the former assassin-turned-SHIELD-agent was quiet, only interjecting a few thoughts about their most recent mission. Maria was okay with it, uncharacteristic as it was. Natasha was by nature a woman of few words, choosing to speak when and if it mattered. Whatever was going on inside her head, Maria knew she’d be let in, eventually. More than likely it would take a little coaxing, but she was starting to remember just how good she was at that.

“Lunch?” she suggested when the door slid shut behind Sam.

Natasha shook her head. “I’m not hungry since we had a late breakfast.”

“Hmm, neither am I.”

“Maria?”

“What’s up?”

Natasha looked down at her feet, color on her cheeks and reaching to the tips of her ears a bit.

“I need to go.”

“You need to leave?” Maria said, feeling a little disappointed. She wasn’t quite sure where she wanted to go next with their day, but the idea of Natasha leaving after only just a couple of hours threatened to leave a bad taste in her mouth.

“No,” Natasha laughed, and Maria looked at her, confused. “Ma’am, I have to pee.”

“Oh!” She palmed her face for a minute, embarrassed, then was confused enough to peer through her separated fingers.

“So go? I’m not the type of person to tell you when you can or can’t use the restroom, Natasha.”

“Yeah, I know.” Natasha picked at an invisible thread on her jeans before looking up directly at Maria. “But I’d be okay with it if you were.”

Maria gaped at her, and now Natasha seemed unsure of herself, and she shook her head as she pushed against the arms of the chair to get up.

“Never mind. I’ll be right back.”

“Stop.”

She was halfway across the room, ever used to making a quick getaway, and her shoes squeaked a little as Natasha obeyed.

"Back to where you were, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Maria didn’t miss the annoyed curl of Natasha’s lips or the lingering glance she gave the doorway, but still Natasha returned to stand in front of her.

“Knees or…?”

“Chair is fine.”

Natasha sat. Her knee was bouncing up and down a little; whether it was out of desperation to use the bathroom or desperation to escape the conversation, Maria didn’t know. Probably a little bit of both.

“Let me make sure I have this clear in my head,” Maria said carefully. It had been a long time since they’d come up with something new to try, at least, something new that Maria hadn’t ever thought of before.

“You’re saying you wouldn’t mind if I gave you instruction on when to use the bathroom?”

“I mean, I don’t want to do it when we’re out in public.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to do that anyway.”

Their devotion usually didn’t translate to out in the open where they could be seen. There were subtle things they did: Natasha liked to let Maria order their dinner, because Maria usually knew what she would want. She always sat to the left of Maria, and would move seats or chairs if needed. And the slim silver bracelet that had been a birthday present was never taken off except for the shower. Maria, in turn, never let herself be too demanding when they were out in public, especially with their friends. She usually kept an affectionate hand on Natasha, on her knee or in her hair, but that could easily be disguised as one woman in love with another. Nobody else had to know that it meant something so much more, really.

“I know. But when we’re alone, like here or at home… I think I’d be okay with it.”

“Hmm,” Maria hummed, a little to herself as she grew lost in thought. She tilted her head. “But what if I didn’t let you go?”

Natasha groaned, and shook her head. “I don’t think I’d _like_ it, or maybe I would, I don’t know. But I don’t mind… giving you that.”

“Hmm,” she said again.  It was an appealing idea, and truth be told, it made Maria’s heart swell that Natasha was willing to give her that little bit of extra control in their relationship. She decided to take advantage of it for a few minutes, hearing her email beep with a new one that required her _urgent_ attention. Maria let a small smile play about her lips; she heard Natasha’s subtle huff of resignation, the _tap tap tap_ of her foot on the floor grow increasingly louder.

She answered the email before she decided to have mercy on her girlfriend, with a simple, “Come here, _myshka_.”

Natasha rounded the desk and stood at her side expectantly; Maria reached up from her chair so that Natasha had to lean down to hug her.

“Good girl,” she whispered into her ear, rubbing Natasha’s back. “Go on, now.”

Natasha kissed her lips quickly. “Thank you, ma’am,” she said against Maria’s mouth, then practically ran from the room.

Maria chuckled to herself and reached down at her feet to retrieve the scarf that she’d accidentally left on the floor. She thought about putting it in her bag to take home, but no, it might better serve her in the office. She opened the drawer to tuck the scarf back in; she paused when the sun cast a shine on something else.

Maria took out the slim metal ruler and looked at it in her hand, waving it slightly and watching as the thin material wobbled back and forth.

Huh.

She thought back to that night in New York. How it seemed to take forever for her to get there, when she knew Natasha was hurt and waiting for her. She tried not to think of the cuts to Natasha’s skin, the bruises, but instead Maria’s mind focused on what propelled Natasha to that point, to a need so hungry she’d go to a BDSM club for relief.

 _Just wanted to feel_.

_Feel what?_

_Something, anything._

Maria put the ruler on her desk, in the center. She got up from her chair and moved around to lean on her desk with her arms crossed over her chest. She waited, schooling her face behind the sternest expression she could muster.

Natasha didn’t make her wait long. Coming back into the room she caught sight of Maria’s look and it actually made her stop for a moment. Maria could see her neck as her girlfriend swallowed, hard, and she fought not to smirk.

She didn’t say anything, just lifted her hand and crooked her finger in a “come here” gesture, which Natasha once again readily obeyed.

“Hands behind your back,” Maria ordered. She stepped to the side to give Natasha full view of the desk, then Maria tilted her head.

“Let’s have these shades up,” she said, smiling when the computer beeped its acknowledgement and the windows of her office blinded them with light.

“Lock the door. I don’t want to be disturbed.”

“Soundproofing?” Natasha dared to suggest, and Maria laughed.

“No, I expect you to be quiet, sweetheart.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She stood just behind Natasha, leaning down to whisper into the shorter woman’s ear. “That’s my good girl.”

Natasha shivered, but she was grinning even as her green eyes were a little wide with anticipation. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Do you see that ruler, Natasha?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Maria reached up her hand, playing at once teasingly and reassuringly with the soft curls at the nape of Natasha’s neck. Then she gripped her, not holding forcefully, but in the signal to let Natasha know that their play was beginning in earnest.

“How do you imagine that ruler would feel against someone’s ass?”

“Bare skin, ma’am?”

“Is there any other way?”

“That depends on you.”

It was both a challenge and an admission of who was in control, and Maria loved it. Of course it depended on her. And yet, the responsibility was daunting.

“Let’s say I want you to take off your pants and underwear and bend over this desk. How do you think that ruler would feel then?”

Natasha’s body full-on shuddered; Maria didn’t let go of her neck.

“I think it would hurt. But… it would also feel good.”

Maria couldn’t help but kiss her cheek. This was something they had been working on, the fact that to Natasha, pain was a necessary facet of their relationship and also a pleasure that she couldn’t quite put to words. It had been its own problem, because how on earth do you discipline someone who loved being spanked, being whipped, like Natasha? It just meant Maria had to be more creative, really, which was fine. Natasha craved the physical; Maria was a master of the psychological.

Together, they made it work in a beautiful, sometimes sadistic dance.

“Is that why you came here?” Maria’s lips were on the shell of her girlfriend’s ear, but Natasha shook her head, vehemently.

“No, ma’am. I meant what I said, I just wanted to be with you. But…”

“But?” Maria prompted.

Natasha turned her head to look into her eyes. “I wouldn’t turn it down.”

Maria stepped back. “Then why don’t you ask me?”

There was only a moment’s hesitation, but when she spoke, Natasha’s voice was clear and confident.

“Ma’am, will you please bend me over your desk and spank me with the ruler?”

Maria flexed her fingers, always surprised at the rush of heat that coursed through her when Natasha asked her for something such as that. She heard the air conditioning come on as if in response, and she almost snorted. She focused on the girl at her side.

“Pants and underwear down, Natasha.”

She caught the fleeting glimpse of worry as Natasha hesitated, glancing at the uncovered windows. Maria clucked her tongue and reached out to grasp Natasha’s hair, tugging only slightly roughly so her girlfriend’s head was tilted back.

“When I give you a command when do I expect it to be done? In a second? In a minute?”

“No ma’am, now, ma’am.”

“Then do it.” She released Natasha’s hair. “Don’t worry about the windows. No one can see this high up… unless they decide to look.”

Maria has had a slightly voyeuristic tendency in the past; Natasha knew about it and was willing to entertain the idea, at some point if not yet. And Maria knew that even if anyone did glance up to her spacious office high in HQ, they wouldn’t be able to see anything.

But the idea of it was… nice, to say the least.

Natasha didn't hesitate this time as she stripped herself of her pants and underwear, dropping it down to her ankles.

“Is this all right, ma’am, or do you want them completely off?”

Her voice was a little huskier than usual, a little shaky, and Maria reached to squeeze her shoulder.

“Around your ankles is fine. Bend over, please, hands flat on the desk.”

Natasha complied, resting her cheek against the smooth coolness of the glass desktop. Maria fretted back and forth a bit, positioning Natasha’s hands a little wider, then moving to stand behind her.

There wasn’t, she said to herself, any sight that was nicer than Natasha Romanoff’s ass. She was a damn lucky woman that she got to see it pretty much any time she wanted to. She was even luckier that she got to mark it. Maria slipped her foot between Natasha’s own, kicking them apart so that her girlfriend’s legs were spread wider.

“You’re beautiful,” she praised, resting her hand on Natasha’s back. The woman visibly relaxed, and Maria smiled, rubbing gently.

“You really are, _myshka_. You’re such a pretty girl, and I am so proud to call you mine.”

“All yours, ma’am,” Natasha said, “Thank you.”

“Now, what are the rules, please?”

Natasha cleared her throat. “I need to stay still, because if I move I could get really hurt.”

“Good. And?”

“I’m allowed to cry.”

“Yes,” Maria said softly, moving her hand up to Natasha’s hair. “You are, sweetheart.”

She’d never say that Natasha _couldn’t_ cry, for one thing, but for another, the woman who submitted to her always seemed to want permission for it, now that they were back together. Maria suspected it was some remnant of the little girl who was abused mercilessly and taught that to cry was to show weakness. Part of Maria perversely liked it when Natasha would cry – she was the sadist to Natasha’s masochist after all – but part of her was always intensely relieved when Natasha would just let go of her emotions, for _her_.

For them both, really.

“What else?”

“I’m allowed to come?”

Maria laughed out loud at the hopefulness in Natasha’s voice, and Natasha was grinning too, lifting her head to glance back at Maria.

“No, indeed you are not,” Maria said merrily, pressing Natasha’s head back down and taking in the dissatisfied groan she was given in response. It was all too easy for Natasha to orgasm while being spanked, and denying her that was sometimes more fun than the spanking itself, Maria thought.

“Not this time. We’ll see about later though, if you’re good. Last rule?”

“If I can’t handle it, I have to safe word.”

“What’s your safe word?”

“Can we just—“ Natasha’s hand balled up in a fist as she grunted in frustration, no doubt eager to get the spanking over with as much as she wanted it to start.

“I asked you a question, Natasha,” Maria reiterated, punctuating it with a harsh slap to Natasha’s backside.

Natasha jolted at the suddenness of it, a whimper escaping her despite Maria’s earlier admonishment to be quiet. She’d let it slip this time, Maria decided

“I’m sorry, ma’am. My safe word is _krasnyy_.”

“Good girl.” Maria rubbed soothing circles over the area that she had slapped. She knew Natasha hated going over their rules when they played, but Maria was adamant about it after she had learned just how unsafe Natasha had let herself be at the club. True, the man that had caned her had ignored her safe word, but, Natasha had admitted, during some of her “sessions” she hadn’t even bothered to use one.

It made Maria angry. “That club should be shut down,” she’d said, more than once. The idea of back rooms with locks on the doors and “dominants” who wouldn’t even establish or use safe words made her sick. The idea that Natasha would willingly go there, even more so. Maria consoled herself by repetition of their rules, an adherence to regulations that would do her military training proud. She liked to think it was a comfort to Natasha as well.

She noticed that Natasha’s skin had goosebumps now, and Maria suppressed a smile.

“Looks like the air conditioning is making you cold,” she said, resting her hand on Natasha’s ass. “That’s my signal to warm you up.”

“Your jokes are so lame,” Natasha said, but her voice was happy, distant and content in a way that told Maria things were going just fine so far.

“Shut up,” she said, beginning to smack Natasha steadily and only a little sharply. “I’m brilliant.”

She watched the clock as she spanked Natasha with her hand, glancing every now and then to see her girlfriend’s skin beginning to bloom and pink. It’d be an angry, vibrant red shortly, but Maria always loved this, seeing how Natasha’s body responded to her touch. She delighted in how effortlessly still Natasha kept herself, while still somehow managing to push herself into Maria’s blows.

She may not have come there for a spanking, Maria thought, but Natasha needed it.

“Hand me the ruler,” she finally said after a few minutes, and Natasha reached it back to her.

“ _Red, yellow, green_?” she asked in Russian.

“ _Green_ , ma’am.”

“You’ve been good so far. I expect you to keep it up.” She tapped the ruler against Natasha’s bottom.

“I will, I promise.”

The crack of the ruler echoed in the room; for some reason, SHIELD HQ had always had impeccably good acoustics. It captured Natasha’s gasp of pain beautifully, and Maria leaned down to her ear.

“I told you to be quiet. If you can’t do that, I’ll gag you.”

Natasha bit her lip hard enough that Maria considered gagging her anyway, just because she didn’t want to draw blood. But Natasha nodded.

“I’ll be quiet, ma’am. I promise.”

Maria slapped her again; satisfied that this didn’t even inspire a peep out of Natasha, she began the spanking in full force. She crisscrossed her strokes, taking care at first to not hit the same patches of skin, then repeating them once every inch of Natasha’s rear end had been covered. The ruler was only the thinnest piece of cheap metal, but it was leaving a pretty good sting if Natasha’s screwed-shut eyes were any indication.

It was so very, terribly hot.

Maria struck her again, particularly hard, and Natasha jumped on her toes.

“You’re not going to come are you, sweetheart?” She was teasing, her tone maddeningly lilting and, Natasha would say, completely evil.

“No,” Natasha said. “But I really, really want to. Please?”

“I said no, and I meant it.” Her hand didn’t let up, raining down blows on Natasha’s bottom, and marveling at how it was, indeed, turning to a brilliant red.

Natasha still wasn’t making any noise, but her eyes were shining with unshed tears. The ruler was cutting into Maria’s hand and she decided once again that maybe the situation called for a little mercy.

“Sound proofing,” she commanded, waiting until she heard the beep before she began to make her last few strokes a little harder.

“Natasha,” she said, having to raise her voice to be heard over the sound of her spanking, “It’s all right, _myshka_ , you can cry.”

She watched as Natasha sagged against the desk, Maria noting with satisfaction the first sniffle that foretold of release. She kept her smacks sharp, but further apart, reaching the end of the spanking as Natasha finally, finally let go with a sob. When she cried, when Maria gave her permission to cry, Natasha wasn’t keen to hold anything back. They were that sort of loud, hitching, barely-breathing tears that seemed to have been pent-up for a lifetime, and the first time it had happened Maria had been terrified.

Now, however, she knew what to do. She crossed the front of her desk long enough to stow away the ruler and grab the lotion from her drawer; she made a note to buy some actual cream at the store later that week. Moving back behind her girlfriend, Maria uncapped it and squirted some into her hands.

“This is going to be cold, sweetheart,” she said gently over Natasha’s cries. “You did so well, Natasha, you did so well.”

Natasha flinched under her hands, but relaxed again almost instantly from the now-gentle touches on her punished skin. Maria soothed and stroked as softly as she could, rubbing the remainder of the lotion into her own hands once she was satisfied that she had used enough of on her girlfriend.

“Come here.” Maria pulled Natasha, boneless and with shining cheeks, into her arms. She maneuvered them both over to the couch that sat against the far wall – Fury had bitched endlessly at her for that one, but for once, Maria had won out.

She sat down and carefully settled Natasha on her lap, smiling a little sadly when her girlfriend hissed in pain.

“You all right?”

Natasha nodded against her shoulder.

“Words, please, Natasha, I’m not psychic.”

Verbal response was another rule in their relationship, unless there were gags involved, and even then, they’d designed other cues that would be unmistakable.

"I’m fine. Perfect,” Natasha said thickly. She snaked her arms around Maria’s neck and clung tightly. “Thank you.”

Maria patted her back. “You did so well,” she said again. “I’m proud of you.”

“Mm. Maria?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry. I promise I’ll be good.”

“What?”

She pulled Natasha away from her a little, searching the other woman’s now somewhat dejected, but still blissful, expression.

“I won’t leave again. I promise.”

Maria sighed and shook her head, moving so that she was leaned against the far arm of the couch and Natasha was stretched out on top of her.

“You’re a good girl, Natasha,” she said, kissing her cheek, her hair, everywhere she could reach from their awkward position. “You’ve always been a good girl, you know. I’m sorry other people couldn’t see it.”

She hadn’t been the one who left, and yet Maria sometimes felt like she was the one who owed Natasha an apology. For not seeing the pain that still lingered, just under the surface. For not understanding just how much Natasha loved the praise, loved knowing that someone out there thought she was more than just how many kills she’d gotten, how many successful missions of atonement she’d led. Natasha had been _so resistant_ to Maria calling her a good girl when they’d began their relationship. She’d safe worded the first time, as a matter of fact.

Maria would’ve ordinarily never brought it up again, but she’d seen whatever it was that had sparked in Natasha’s eyes when she’d heard it, and Maria knew that it wasn’t anger. So gradually she’d slipped it in, in the heat of the moment or after, when Natasha was drifting off to sleep in her arms. And gradually, Natasha embraced just how much she wanted to be Maria Hill’s good girl.

“No sorry,” Natasha said lazily, and Maria chuckled when she heard a light, peaceful snore.

She wasn’t going anywhere any time soon, she realized. Thank goodness _she_ didn’t have to pee, but her back was going to hurt like a bitch in a little while.

“Why don’t you nap for a bit?” she suggested, even though Natasha was well on her way. “I don’t have that meeting with Cap for,” She glanced at the clock. “Another half-hour.”

“Kay. Thanks, ma’am.”

Maria kissed the top of her head.

“Ma’am?”

“Hmm?”

“I really would like to come.”

Maria rolled her eyes and tapped Natasha’s bottom, not hard, but the submissive woman yelped anyway, more out of indignation than anything.

“You’re a pain in my ass, Romanoff.”

Natasha’s laughter was a low, welcome vibration against Maria’s chest.

“Says the one who just spanked the hell out of mine.” She tipped herself up and kissed Maria’s chin chastely, nuzzling it before settling back down against her shoulder with her face buried in Maria’s neck.

“You love it.”

“Maybe I just love you,” Natasha challenged as she yawned, long and heavy.

Maria shook her head and closed her own eyes.

Maybe she did, she thought. Maybe she did.

 


End file.
